by Dale Mayer
Geir stood.
She glanced at him and frowned. “I forgot you were here. I hope you weren’t watching me.”
“Self-conscious, are you?” But he walked toward her with a smile on his face. “Don’t worry about it. I was working on my laptop.”
She sighed with relief. “That’s good because, for all I know, I might do something weird while I’m painting. Like hold my tongue sideways or something.”
He chuckled. “From the few glances I caught when I looked up, you looked perfectly normal.”
She grinned and stepped back. He walked around farther back from the painting than she was, so he could get a full view. She heard a soft, gentle sigh escape his lips.
He whispered, “Perfect.”
And her heart swelled. She turned and grinned up at him. “Really?”
He nodded. “Really. You’re incredibly talented.”
Self-consciousness hitting her again, she walked to the sink and washed her brushes, palette and then her hands. She gently removed the smock from her clothing. As she turned to face Geir, he reached around her and grabbed a piece of paper towel off the roll.
“Hold still.” He brushed paint off her cheek.
When he held out the paper towel, she could see a bit of gentle blue. She chuckled. “Of course. No way would I get away from that scot-free, would I?”
He tossed the paper towel on the counter. “What do you need for this to be ready to go?”
She looked at it, sniffed the air, walked to the French doors and opened them. “It needs air in here. The painting needs to dry, and the best way is if there is circulating air. Plus the room stinks of paint.”
He stood at her side as they stared out into the evening air. “I just don’t like to leave the doors open.” His voice held his concern.
She slid her gaze at him sideways. “I often do.”
He drew his brows together and glared at her. “Remember how we’re back to the fact you need to change the way you do things?”
“How else am I supposed to get my paintings to dry?”
He turned to study each of the paintings. “I’m not sure what is the best thing. I’ll have to research that to find out, but leaving your doors open, particularly after several break-ins, is not ideal.”
She nodded. “I get that. But tomorrow is very important to me.”
He nodded. “In that case, I’ll stay here in the studio. You’re right beside me in the bedroom there, so I can keep an eye on your place too.”
She stared at him in surprise. “Why would you do that?”
“To make sure nobody comes in the studio and accidentally, or on purpose, damages your paintings.”
She stared at him in horror. “They wouldn’t …” Her frown deepened. “Would they?”
He nodded. “I can’t say for sure they would,” he cautioned, “but it’s hard to say what’s on somebody’s mind. Look at the bedrooms that have been tossed. How easy would it be to splash paint on these so they’re ruined forever?”
She wrapped her arms around her stomach. “Okay, that’s almost enough to make me physically ill.” She stared at the paintings. “Where can I keep them so they’ll be safe?”
He walked toward several older paintings stacked on the wall, crouching in front of them. “Your paintings, can they be moved?”
She nodded. “I would wrap them in cotton before I took them down, but, for the moment, they just need to be someplace safe.”
“Do you have a closet big enough?”
She shook her head. “No, I don’t.”
“Well, that goes back to me staying here in this room then because now it’s not just you but also your work that needs to be protected.”
She wasn’t sure what to think of him. She’d never had anybody make an offer like that before. “Why would you do that?”
One eyebrow rose. “Because I’m a nice guy?”
“Because you’d feel guilty if anything happened to them,” she corrected.
He chuckled. “True. But that still doesn’t change the fact you need these paintings in this wonderful condition so you can take them to the gallery in the morning, correct?”
She nodded and sighed. “Correct.”
“In that case, you head off to bed, and I’ll do my first shift sitting here. When Jager and I switch, I’ll make sure he knows the scoop and comes up here.”
She smiled. “Are you going back to your bed to sleep? I don’t want to think of you sitting up here half the night.”
“Jager and I are doing four-hour shifts. He’s sleeping right now.”
She glanced at the door. “I never even thought about where he was.” She shook her head. “But it seems like, when I’m painting lately, I completely lose myself in it.”
“Is that not the way it’s always been?” He was curious.
“No, not at all. It’s nothing I’ve experienced before. Not until I did these new paintings.”
He nodded. “Interesting.”
“I don’t know about interesting, but weird will do.” She walked to the door, cast a saucy glance back at him and said, “Good night, dear knight.”
At that, his eyebrows shot upward, and she chuckled.
“Obviously you’re a knight in shining armor if you’re standing guard over me and my paintings for the evening.”
He grinned. “In that case, do I get a kiss as a thank-you?”
“In that case, you get it in the morning,” she said, waving at him as she walked out of the room.
His laughter followed her. She walked into her bedroom and realized she didn’t have the two lamps by the couch, but they weren’t required for tonight. It was already quite late. She glanced at the clock. It was past eleven.
She walked into the bathroom, took a quick shower because she generally had paint in her hair by the time she was done with a late session. When she was done, she dried off and stepped out of the bathroom. She threw on a camisole and boy shorts in soft cotton and went to her bed.
With her hair twisted up in a bun, she lay down and almost immediately fell asleep.
She swore it was only a few minutes later when she woke up. She thought she heard somebody outside her room. She smiled, realizing it would be Geir. She wanted to call out to him but figured that would just be an invitation, and he’d take it a different way than she meant it.
The trouble was, as she lay here thinking about the way he would take it, she realized just how interested she was. And, if he was leaving the next day, she didn’t have much time in order to show him that kind of interest.
She lay here wondering what she would do.
Then her gaze caught the clock, and she saw it was nearly three o’clock in the morning. It was probably the changing of the guard, and Jager would come to her studio. She flopped onto her back, considering the two men who would do such a thing. Sure, they were worried about somebody coming back into the house, but they also knew how important those paintings were to her.
She flipped over again and groaned. “No way I’ll sleep now,” she grumbled. She heard footsteps again. She froze. Had he heard her?
“Are you okay?” Geir asked in a low whisper from the hallway.
She hopped out of bed, ran to the door and opened it a crack. “I’m fine. How come you’re still walking around? Shouldn’t you be in bed?”
His eyes gleamed with silvery light as he stared at her body. And she realized how little she wore. She closed the door slightly. But he slowly raised that gaze to lock onto hers.
“I was just heading to bed.” His voice was husky, deep. But he didn’t move.
And neither did she. Her breath caught in the back of her throat as she warred with herself about what she wanted. She knew exactly what Nancy would say. Seize the moment and charge full speed ahead.
“Are you going to let me in?” His voice had deepened to a grittiness level. He knew he sounded hoarse. The heat rolling through him threatened to take over. The sight of her in that skimpy top, her breasts plump, fi
lling out that top, her nipples reaching for him, and the shadow showing through the bottoms, … it was too much.
He closed his eyes and stood there, fisting his hands. “Sorry,” he said as he struggled for control. “But you are something else.”
He felt rather than heard her reaction. He opened his eyes to see her standing there, curious, interested, hesitant. But he didn’t want her questioning the way she felt. He wanted her to throw herself in his arms and to feel exactly the same way he did. Because, right now, all he wanted to do was throw her to the floor and ravage her. But in a good way.
He ordered his body to move, to walk down the hall, to go past her room. But his body refused to listen. It had a mind of its own, and already his groin was seriously tight. He again closed his eyes, adding in a deep breath, letting it out slowly, then repeating it again. Just when he thought he would be okay, that he could get past this without an incredibly humiliating moment he hadn’t had since he was fourteen, he felt her hand on his chest. His breath sucked in, and he opened his eyes to stare at her.
“Don’t tease,” he said, his voice hard. “I’m too close to the edge.”
“I can see that,” she whispered. “And there’s something so fascinating about thinking you’re feeling that way about me.”
He shook his head. “Surely you know how incredibly sexy you are.”
She smiled mistily up at him. “No, I’m not so sure I do.” Her other hand slid over his belly, up his chest, until both were around his neck. She lifted herself on her tiptoes, her lips almost level with his.
His heart raced. He gripped the doorknob with his iron fist, desperate to hold back. He wasn’t sure where she was going with this, but he hoped, dear God, he hoped.
She slid her fingers through his hair and whispered, “Why don’t you show me?”
And that was all it took. He wrapped her tight in his arms, crushing her against him, his lips hard on hers. He heard the startled squeak from behind her lips, but he didn’t dare let her go. He deepened the kiss, showing her exactly how he felt about her. His arm stroked the full length of her body, reaching down to cup her cheeks. He hitched her higher, wrapping her legs around his waist until he carried her. His leg was sore as hell from all his earlier activities today, but he wouldn’t acknowledge it. It had been a problem for two years. He wasn’t about to start coddling it now.
He gently closed the door, one arm under her ass, holding her tight, and carried her to the bed.
She looked at him, her eyes deeper than midnight as she watched in wonder. “I’ve never been carried before.”
He brushed a kiss against her lips, then gently lowered her to the blankets, following her down.
He led her into the riotous desire ripping through him. He had her stripped of her camisole in seconds. He was feasting on her nipples that had teased and tortured him since he’d first caught sight of them, loose and shimmying against the camisole material.
She moaned and twisted gently in his arms. Her fingers stroked his hair, holding him close against her. “Oh, my God,” she whispered, “that feels so wonderful.”
He sucked harder and deeper, her back arching, a moan escaping. He slipped fingers into her panties, pulling them off, tossing them to the floor. He stroked the fleshy lips, feeling the moisture already at the heart of her. Dipping his fingers inside, he stroked, caressed, her body writhing beneath him, and still he wouldn’t let up.
She cried out, “Geir, I want you now.”
But he wouldn’t stop. He shifted his attention to her other breast, caressing the nipple with as much love and care as he had the first one, before taking it into his mouth and sucking it in a deep pulsing rhythm. At the same time, he slid his fingers deeper inside her and stroked over and over.
Her body wept with joy; she arched as her climax ripped through her until she lay shuddering on the bed.
Just as she was about to speak, he crushed her lips, his tongue sliding inside, dueling with hers, not giving her a respite or time to relax and enjoy. Instead, he spread her legs as wide as he could. Just for the moment, resting at the heart of her, he lifted his head up and looked down at her.
She smiled, wrapped her arms trustingly around his neck and whispered, “Yes.”
And he plunged deep. She cried out, her body arching at the forceful possession. But it was how he felt. She was his. She always would be.
A primitive need drove him as he pounded into her. She was small, not delicate, but not a huge bold woman either, and he needed to be careful, but it was so damn hard. He didn’t want to hurt her, but, at the same time, his body had taken over, and his passion ripped through him as he drove her closer and closer to the edge again.
When she gave a muffled scream and flew off the edge, he followed her with a deep guttural groan and slid down beside her. She lay quivering in his arms, the aftershocks still moving through her body. He smiled, but it was all he could do. He was exhausted, his body expending so much energy to hold back that passion. When finally he’d unleashed it, his own climax had been earth-shattering. He tried to catch his breath as he lay here.
Finally she rolled over and looked at him. “Oh, my God.”
He stared at her lazily, reached over and kissed her gently. “What does that mean?”
She gave him the sweetest smile. “It means, I’m so grateful I opened my bedroom door tonight.”
Chapter 14
And Morning wasn’t lying. That had been the most earth-shattering sex she had ever participated in. She had no idea passion could rage like that. But, from the minute she’d seen his physical reaction, she’d wanted to know what that kind of passionate power was like. What it was like to have somebody want her as desperately as he did at the moment. And it had been worth everything.
Her fingers stroked his arm, his side, his back. He stilled. She frowned, leaned up on her elbow, pulled his arm up and rolled him slightly toward her so she could look at his back. She cried out softly at the scars. She stroked across the mangled one over his shoulder blade and several more on his spine.
When she came to his buttocks, there were scars, big ugly scars across his flesh. There was a huge indentation on the top of his right buttock, damage from whatever injury had befallen him.
She stroked her fingers along and out and around, but that wasn’t enough. She sat up and kissed every spot she could find.
Slowly he relaxed as if he’d thought she would run from him, run from seeing the scars of a body that had been ravaged by something terrible.
When she’d finally explored all of his back, his thighs, and came to the prosthetic of his lower right leg, she stopped and stared. Her fingers gently stroked along the edge where the cup held his lower leg in place.
He stiffened, waiting to see what she’d do, only to feel his heart ease as she dropped a kiss onto his knee and said, “I didn’t even notice.”
“Good,” he whispered. “I didn’t want you to think less of me. Serving my country took a toll on my body.”
She looked up at him. “How could anybody think less of you for what you’ve been through? You served our country, for all of us, and this is what happens to you? If anything, I want to murder the person who did this to you.”
“What makes you think a person did this?” he asked curiously.
She shook her head. “I have no idea.” Her hands stroked his other leg, his foot—a foot that had to be at least twice the size hers. With a smile, she stretched out her leg, held her foot against his and shook her head. “You’re just so damn big.” She stroked her leg up his thigh and his hips as he chuckled.
And she saw scars on the top of his thighs, and an old scar against the inside of his hip. She figured it had something to do with internal injuries. But definitely nothing was wrong with his manhood. It rose proud and strong in front of her again. She stared at it, her fingers stroking over the top and back again as it waved. He groaned, and she closed her fingers tightly around it, sliding up and down and then up again.
&n
bsp; He shuddered. His body open and available. He was such a big man and so accepting of anything she wanted to do for him.
She sighed with happiness, gently cupping the globes between his thighs and kissed the head in front of her.
His good hand gently grasped her hair, and he whispered, “Too much of that and I won’t be able to hold back.”
“I’ve already seen how much control you have.” Her fingers gently slid across the top again. “And it’s a lot.”
He chuckled. “That was not control. I took one look at you, and my body reacted.”
She chuckled and rose on her knees, gently straddling his hips. Instead of letting him enter her again, she gently slid up and down the length of him.
He sighed, his hands coming to rest on her thighs. “It’s been a long time,” he admitted quietly.
“Good,” she whispered. “I’d hate to think you spread this beautiful body around. So many wouldn’t appreciate it.”
He chuckled. “I don’t think appreciation is what most people think when they see this body.”
She flicked her tongue across his nipples and gently nipped one. A rumble rolled up his chest, and he hugged her close. She lay against him, wondering about what had happened to this beautiful man. At the same time, she knew it would bring him pain and sorrow to ask, and she didn’t want anything taking from their joy of the moment.
She rose high, and, this time when she sat, she slid down over his shaft until she was fully seated. She threw her head back, eyes closed. She reached out her hands for him to grab as she said, “You know what I always dreamed about?”
“What?” he asked, his voice thick, hoarse.
“Riding.” And she started to ride.
She woke hours later, her body sore, achy, thrumming with pleasure, even hours after their last lovemaking session. She wrapped her arms around the big man beside her, loving when he tugged her closer. “I don’t want this night to end,” she whispered.
He dropped a kiss on her temple. “Neither do I.”
She sighed with happiness and just lay here awash in the peace and quiet and the joy of the moment.
